


The Wedding

by dcisamtyler



Category: The Great (TV 2020), The Great - Fandom
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Fluff, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25637218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dcisamtyler/pseuds/dcisamtyler
Summary: The reader and Count Orlo are stuck at an insufferable wedding for members of the court. Count Orlo doesn’t mind the wedding. The reader? Not so much.
Relationships: Count Orlo/Reader, Orlo (The Great TV 2020)/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 32





	The Wedding

You rolled your eyes and let out a tiny sigh. How much longer was this horrid carriage crash of a celebration going to last? Time crawled like it was digging itself out of a grave, its hands full of dirt. As it was, you were ready to retreat back to your apartments before you had left them in the first instance. This was a day you had been dreading: the wedding celebrations of Maxim Lomov and Lady Katrina.

The entire court was in attendance, including the Emperor and Empress. They sat perched at the head table alongside the bride and groom’s empty chairs, watching as the happy couple swayed around the ballroom floor. All in the court watched in awe at them, dressed in their finest and brightest. “Madam Lomov is sparkling,” you overheard one of the Ladies at your table whisper.

It was interesting, truly. Prior to the wedding, all of the Ladies secretly despised Madam Lomov. In your limited time with them, you overheard their japes and all of their low-leveled comments. Jealousy had all of their eyes flashing bright green. Each and every one of them wanted Maxim Lomov for themselves. You, however, weren’t interested in the slightest. There was not a brain up in that head of his but a jingling bell that rang every so often. The new Madam Lomov was not any brighter, but she was the most kind out of the Ladies, earning a matter of respect from you.

Caught up in your endless river of thought, you hadn’t noticed the tables around you emptying as many of the court joined the Lomovs on the ballroom floor, all of them sloppily circling in different directions. You watched them for a moment before you ripped your gaze away in distaste. Your eyes wandered over your own half-empty table. You and your friend, Count Orlo, were the only ones left. Of course, that was not a particular surprise.

You hated weddings and Orlo was much too shy to dance with any woman. Well, not that any of the other women would want to dance with him, as they would be mocked relentlessly by the rest of the court for dancing with a virgin. You could hear Peter’s comments now. “Orlo! Is your cock twitching simply by dancing with her? Did you hear that, gentlemen? I said—” he’d say and forced laughs would quickly follow.

Glancing over a half-empty glass, you grabbed it and drank it like a dehydrated castaway, not even looking at its contents. At this time in the day-long celebrations, it did not matter whether it was vodka, whiskey, or wine. You needed to take your mind out of that ballroom and that was the only way you could do it.

The corset stitched into your gown made all of your assets look spectacular, but it tugged at your lungs and dug into your spine. At the end of the night, you were certain you would find little red pricks littered all over your back, like fingernail marks from moments of desperation.

As you nearly slammed the glass down, Orlo glanced at you with a grin before it instantly turned into a grimace. “Oh, no, no, Y/N—” he sputtered, plucking the glass out of your hand, whispering, “That was Velementov’s.”

Any other moment, you would have shuddered in disgust. But this was not any other moment. You were not nearly as intoxicated as you desired to be, and it didn’t seem like the celebrations were anywhere close to ending. In a fleeting thought, you wondered if the orchestra in the corner of the room was suffering from hand cramps. You simply shrugged at Orlo, tilting your head at the sleeping general. “I doubt he needs it now.”

A faint smile curled on your friend’s lips. “As if you need it, either, Y/N.”

You scoffed. “I do. I despise these tragic affairs. No doubt she will end up sleeping with the Emperor.”

Orlo sighed. He didn’t like speaking so openly about others when they were in the same room. He preferred to share his “opinions” in private, while you were in the garden or the library, a piece of text by Voltaire open in his lap. “I see you are in no rush to marry.”

“Neither are you,” you shot back.

The moment it left your mouth you wished you hadn’t spoken. It sounded much more venomous than intended and Orlo clearly felt its effects. His eyes flashed with a million emotions left unspoken and he turned away from you, swallowing a lump in his throat.

Orlo didn’t speak after that. He simply watched the rest of the courtiers as you wondered how you could make it up to him.

Orlo had agreed to sit next to you, after all, switching seats with General Velementov. The silence fell over you like the cold Russian winters, chilling you to the bone. You hadn’t realized how much Orlo had acted as your safety net throughout the entire day. He picked you up at your apartments, shakily offering an arm for you to hold onto as you walked towards the ballroom together. Though, once you made it within eyeshot of the ballroom, Orlo gently let go in fear of any comments.

Now, in the ballroom, you rested a palm on his shoulder, making him flinch. You leaned forward to whisper, “We could sneak out and go to the library.”

“And how do you suggest we make that happen?” Orlo hissed.

“We could say I’ve become ill.”

“You’re not ill.”

You huffed. “Maybe not now, but if I suffer here any longer, I might be.”

“No, Y/N. We must stay.”

You straightened your spine. “Okay, then let us dance.”

Orlo’s eyes widened. For a second, he glanced down at the front of your dress and swallowed hard. “No, we c-can’t, they’ll—”

“I don’t care.”

You stood up, fluffing out your ball gown before you turned to Orlo, offering up your hand. He didn’t have much more time to protest as you yanked him up from his seat. You swerved your way through chairs and tables to join the rest of the court. Orlo’s eyes darted around the room as if he was waiting for someone to notice. Make a nasty comment at his expense. But you placed a finger under his chin. “Eyes on me, Orlo.”

Orlo took a shaky breath in. Instead of placing a hand on your waist, he simply held onto your hands with the softest of grips, his eyes wide as he stared at you. “I-I’m not a dancer.”

You raised an eyebrow. “It helps if you start moving your feet.”

Reluctantly, Orlo started moving his feet back and forth. It was cute – he looked like a frightened deer, stumbling in a forest. But he was there and he was dancing, so you couldn’t fault him for trying. At least he could sway.

“You know, you cannot dance,” you teased. “But you are an excellent swayer.”

Orlo’s eyes softened as his lips curled into a soft smile at your reassurance. He glanced back at the distracted Emperor, before moving his hand to your waist, gently pulling you closer. He leaned in and whispered anxiously, “Is this better?”

You smiled. “Of course.”


End file.
